Red's Requiem: Bloodshed Revenge
by Shrimp Mayo
Summary: Set several years after Kanto has been turned into a monarchy under Red's rule. Follows the story of one of his former loyal subjects who is now dead set to ending Red's regime.


**Title: **Red's Requiem: Bloodshed Revenge

**Fandom: **Pokemon (FireRed)

**Complete Summary: **The story is set in Kanto, several years after the original plot in FireRed. Red, the reigning champion of the Kanto League, used his immense power to twist the rules of the region. Kanto became cut off from the other regions and became a monarchy with Red as the king. He appointed his friends to become Lords, previously known as Gym Leaders, to watch over their respective towns/cities. King Red, along with his army, harassed and stole from the people. None of them were strong enough to fight back against the tyranny.

The main character is Ava, one of Red's loyal subjects. At least, she was loyal before he decided to have her head. She ran away with the help of her Pokemon, who fell into Red's merciless tortures. Revenge is the only thing that fuels her now, and she will have Red dead if it is the last thing she does.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Pokemon.

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**Prologue**

The plaza stood in stasis. No one dared speak or move, or even stray their eyes from the sight beholding them. All awaited with baited breath what would come to the familiar face that hung in despair. Death, surely.

The echoing clicks of boots on the hardwood flooring resounded in the open space. A magnificent crimson cape billowed in the breeze; the diamond embeddings of his crown refracted the sun's rays, blinding a few from the sight of his face. They were the lucky ones. They didn't suffer to see the face of the devil incarnate whose eyes were pitch black abysses that held no ounce of humanity left. They didn't feel the sharp bolt of fear that overtook everyone that saw the glint of his devilish canines, publicized by the callous smirk that permanently sat on his face.

No, those who did not see were lucky. After all, ignorance was bliss.

They did hear the Captain announce the captive's imminent death, and that of itself was enough to bring chills to their spines. No, they did not hold love for the prisoner. Most of them loathed the blonde, actually, but the knowledge of a public beheading still tugged at their heartstrings. This kind of cruelty, of unjust torture, was what defined the culture of today. And the people simply watched, unable to say anything against the King. Not even one of his most loyal knights, who now stood on death's door.

"Knight of Saffron," the title was said almost mockingly by the Captain. "Any last words?"

In the heat of the searing sun and the stare of more than two hundred spectators, the fallen knight lifted her head. The emerald of her eyes shone with a fiery passion that none of the citizens have ever seen grace her face before. No, at the brink of death, their old persecutor blazed with rage that promised carnage. For whom, they did not know.

"Any last words?" the Captain repeated, obviously growing bored of the idleness. He thirst for her blood that would spill from the stage and pool at the feet of his King.

The blonde turned her eyes away from the captain and locked sight on the King himself, stood primly in front of his subjects. He caught her glare with a cool exposition; he was a shell of the man the blonde knew once. He was not her King nor her friend, not any more. He was only a fool with a crown and a future of desolation. She would be sure of that. "Last words?" she asked, almost wistfully against the howling wind. She heard their call and a small smile fell on her lips. She saw the way his lips thinned at the sight of a smile and her grin grew. She stared at him, the intensity of her gaze unwavering. "Red," she paused at the sound of gasps resounding in the plaza, for no one has ever dared regard their King so casually, "you will regret this."

The King bristled and he snarled, unwilling to let such insubordination go unpunished. He moved to raise his hand, a clear indication that her time was up, but was cut short as a bolt of electricity zipped past him, missing the skin of his cheeks by a mere millimetre. He turned, an angry cry of outrage slipping from his lips, and caught sight of spiky yellow mane. The Jolteon howled, and all hell broke loose.


End file.
